


Hic Sunt Dracones

by golden_bastet



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-14 18:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7185440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_bastet/pseuds/golden_bastet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle's under the weather - not that he'd ever <i>admit</i> that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hic Sunt Dracones

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that came to me while looking at the challenge prompts. And now, with beta! - by the incomparable [](http://anna060957.livejournal.com/profile)[anna060957](http://anna060957.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Originally posted for [The Professionals Weekly Obbo Challenge 145](http://teaandswissroll.livejournal.com/515892.html), picture prompt:  
> 

Raymond Doyle wasn't feeling well.

Even as a kid, he hadn't been one for amusement parks; they were loud and overcrowded, with queues snaking everywhere and for everything. Perhaps it was because he'd lost his parents once at one, when he was quite young. The memory was mostly one of hazy colours, loud noises, and tall people; but family lore had it that he'd been quite angry when found. He remembered it more as being terrified his older brother had made good on his promise to trade him in for a toy drum.

Compare this with his partner. All during this op, Bodie'd been in his element: downing hot dog after hot dog, running from ride to ride, chatting up every pretty girl they passed. He was even wearing his favourite jacket, the one that birds apparently couldn't resist. Doyle wondered if the aim were to find Carter and the drugs shipment, or ensure that Bodie had total revenge for every holiday, vacation, and date that CI5 had ever inconvenienced.

Doyle had no such aspirations; he'd much rather finish the op and go home for a kip. But then again he was fighting both the remnants of a nasty cold and a dodgy sausage roll that Bodie had forced upon him that now wanted to remind the world of its presence.

"3.7 to 4.5. 3.7 to 4.5. Oi! Come in, Doyle." The r/t was turned down so that he could just hear it, and he ducked into an alley full of boxes and refuse before pulling it out.

"4.5 here." He forced himself to ignore the odours wafting from further back in the alley.

"What, no cheery message for your best mate?"

"Spent the last hour wandering around the loos, trying not to get arrested for loitering. That's yer cheery message, 'best mate'."

"Ah, the Doyle we all know and love, and clearly on the mend. But - _loitering_? Try not to get picked up for soliciting, petal. Father wouldn't like that one bit."

"Who's left to solicit, when you've picked up every woman within a twenty-five mile radius?"

"Not _every_ one; just the ones who are - "

" - under fifty, still warm and come across," they finished together. "And here I was, thinkin' all the women had just decided to leave the grounds early," continued Doyle. "So, then, Lothario, what have you got?"

"Not much. No hide nor hair of them. You sure your grass had the right info?"

"Surer than sure. He sang a regular Royal Variety Performance. If Carter and his lot aren't here, then we're not looking hard enough."

"But what kind of clue is 'look for the titan'? This fun fair is sorely lacking in world's tallest men."

"Dunno, Bodie. We keep looking; not much else to do."

"Oh, but there is, old son. There's Anna, and Liesle, and Karen..."

"Oi, Bodie! Work."

"Yes, ma'am. Worse than the Cow, you are. 3.7 out."

"4.5 out."

###

Doyle wandered a bit more, then sat down heavily on a bench. Seeing too many tykes with too much food plastered across their faces was taking its toll on him. This whole op seemed almost hopeless, and the rebellious stomach just increased that tenfold. They were _close_ , and he _knew_ they were close, but the whole thing looked set to go pear-shaped anyway.

He looked up across the way. 'O-C-T-O-P-U-S' flashed back in gaudy lights, a good number of which no longer worked. Underneath beckoned the entry to a ride with cars, and arms, and up-and-down. Cars spinning at the end of the arms. And screams. Lots of screams. Just hearing it set up an ominous rumbling deep in his gut.

And then there was the huge, tacky giant octopus display itself, just above the entrance. _Biggest octopus I've ever seen. A bit sickly around the gills, though. Maybe Bodie'd fed it some of the same dodgy grub?_

_Like something out of an old movie, anyway. Mind, Bodie'd probably **like** that._

"'Ello, Angelfish," a low voice came from just behind him."This seat taken?"

"May as well sit." Doyle turned to the body settling beside him, a frown across his face. "Out of leads on this, aren't we?"

"Don't despair, mate. We've still got a little more searching to go." Bodie brushed off some invisible lint from his cherished jacket. "Well, maybe _I_ do; you're about as green as my Aunt Sadie's privet hedge."

"You don't _have_ an Aunt Sadie, sunshine. Besides, the bug is passing. Sitting a bit works a treat. I can still do my job."

"Riiiiight, Doctor Doyle. Your liver could be dragging along on the ground behind you and you'd never admit it. So, then, what sights have you been taking in from this well-appointed bench?" Bodie looked around quickly. "Far edge of the park. Light foot traffic. Across the way, one giant octopus." He gave the structure a closer look. "Straight off an old sea map: 'here be dragons'. Although it could use a bit of a refit."

"Straight out of _The Daily Mariner_ , you mean. The Page Three Monster." Doyle's stomach was calming a bit.

"Knew I'd seen it before. Actually, think I heard it's starring in that movie that's coming out. Standard Greek mythology, but there's a giant octopus - or is it squid? At any rate, the movie's called 'Clash of the Titans' or something. Can never go wrong with a giant crea..."

They looked at each other. "Titans," came out simultaneously.

"Now _that_ would be Carter's idea of humour," Bodie continued. "And it _is_ a squid; he can't even get it right." He stood up, grabbing Doyle's arm. "Think we're back in business, old son; c'mon."

Doyle grinned and, standing, straightened his jacket. The two men then trotted over to the entrance to the ride.

###

_Concentrate. **Concentrate.**_

Doyle was on the ride, in a swinging car, which was not a good thing.

Bodie had insisted in skirting around to the back of the ride to sneak in through the machinery. Doyle was meant to stand in line and wait until Bodie had signalled from inside, then slip in; but when a rather large family with a couple of rather small children had been turned away due to height restrictions, he'd suddenly found himself entering one of the swinging cars, with a couple of teen boys set on making it swing even more.

_Just concentrate; it'll be fine._ He glared at the boys, who stopped their antics. For the moment.

The car slowly ascended, as the attendant filled the other cars one by one. All this was taking much too long, and he was just able to control his nausea. At least the view enabled him to easily scan the ground below for a sign of either Bodie or Carter's crew.

_There. Movement - to the side._ Doyle shifted a bit for a better view. Bodie's head came into range on the other side of a series of pipes and switches and levers. He must be still looking around, so no luck on that front.

Just then Doyle saw Carter move into view - behind Bodie, and reaching into the recesss of his jacket.

Doyle quickly turned to the two boys, flashing his badge quickly. "CI5," he stated low but firmly. "Official business. Just keep your heads down." The two teens, suddenly wide-eyed, automatically obeyed him. He was sure that once it was over, they'd have stories enough for a lifetime.

He turned back to the two men at the edges of the ride. Although not fully exposed, Bodie was more exposed now than before, and not by choice; he'd had to open himself up to get a better view of the area. In the meantime, Carter had positioned himself with a much better vantage point. Doyle realised once the ride started - which it would, any second - no one would be able to hear a shot over the noise of the engine.

Plus Bodie wouldn't be able to turn and get in a shot in time.

The swinging in the car and in his stomach were forgotten. It was only a matter of seconds, but it felt like discrete minutes:

Doyle's gun was out and comfortably in hand -  
He trained his sight on the figure, tracking through the motion of the car -  
The last car's gate slammed shut, and the restraining bar clicked into place -  
Carter's bare arm moved into place, aiming, tensing to fire -

And Doyle's shot was off, the report ripping through the air before he'd even realised it was happening. Bodie dropped into a crouch, gun already drawn; Carter just dropped.

And screaming started, though not from _his_ car. One of the two boys grinned; the other just said, " _kewwwwwl_ " in wonder.

Yes, stories enough for a lifetime.

###

Finally, the car was level with the platform, the doors unlocked, and Doyle was stepping free of the ride.

He stood a little uncertainly on the platform, as though he'd just left the deck of a storm-driven ship. Bodie, moving forward, was saying something with a grin on his face; Doyle couldn't make out what the two policemen behind him were doing. The two boys were excitedly engaged with an officer off to the side. But Doyle was swimming through the motions: Bodie moved in and out of focus, the sounds and the lights bounced off his senses. He just nodded at whatever was being said.

Bodie frowned slightly; then, mentioning something about 'later followup' to the policemen, started manoeuvering them away from the ride and towards what Doyle hoped was the exit.

"Should be at home, Doyle; that's not a good shade on you. Knew you weren't doing well, but stubborn bastard that you are, you'd never admit it."

And Doyle was about to dispute that, was more than up to acting as though everything was fine - or would have been more than up to it, if it weren't for the aroma of sausage roll: the ride attendant, standing a few feet off, was scarfing down sausage rolls. In a way that would have put Bodie to shame.

That was the last straw; his own sausage roll made its last, successful bid for freedom, right on Bodie's legendary jacket.

"Oi, Doyle!" The tone in Bodie's voice was not happy. But by the time his jacket was off, the look on his face had softened. He carefully folded the garment, then tugged at Doyle's sleeve. "C'mon, let's get you home."

It'd been a hell of a day: ill, frustrated, and the infernal swinging around the Octopus. Bodie almost shot. But he'd managed to cover Bodie's back, despite it all.

Doyle was feeling better already.  



End file.
